


bitter

by silvercistern



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day, White Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9715634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercistern/pseuds/silvercistern
Summary: He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.And that was that Akaashihatedsweets.





	1. red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this story a year ago, and just found it the other day. happy valentine's day.

It was an average February morning. Cold, dreary, and otherwise uneventful, outside of bringing everyone one step closer to the arrival of spring. Nothing of any true national consequence was taking place, no regional festivals were set to happen. The only significance to the day was quite minor.

But it was enough that Akaashi Keiji, who had not missed a day of school since he was twelve, was giving serious consideration to the merits of cutting. In the end, it was a demanding exam in his Classical Japanese class and his new responsibilities as vice captain that made the decision for him. But he did not want to go.

_Oh, he really did not want to._

“Try to give your teammates the chocolates you don’t want instead of bringing them home, Keiji darling,” his mother insisted as she slid his neatly packed bento across the kitchen table. “Your father is going to need new shirts if he eats as much as he did last year.”

Last year Akaashi had barely been able to carry them all home, so her concern was merited.

“I’m sure Koutarou-kun would appreciate… well, all of them, really,” she added wryly.

Akaashi loved his mother, and he was typically impressed by her powers of perception. In fact, she’d probably taught him everything he knew about reading people. But in this case she was neglecting the fragile nature of his teammate's ego. Or any teenage boy's, in fact. Which made sense, he supposed, considering his aunt had described his mother as being a “beautiful, emotionless bulldozer of hearts,” in her youth. The delicate sensibilities of teenage boys had never been her wheelhouse.

“Wait,” she put her finger on her lips as she corrected herself, “actually, perhaps he would not.”

Akaashi nodded, then stood and kissed her on the cheek before packing his things to leave. His stomach clenched with dread.

Forget Nationals. Valentine’s Day was the most brutal day of the year.

 

 

The first chocolates were, thankfully, those of gratitude and carried no deep implications for him to address. They came from the two cheery first-years that he’d been tutoring since the fall. Akaashi accepted the colorful, store-bought packages with a smile, sliding them into his satchel. He had emptied it as much as humanly possible the night before, hoping he could hide the evidence of his unwanted popularity better than he had the previous year. In junior high, fellow students had quickly grown resentful. Although he understood why, it wasn’t like he could do anything about any of this.

He would have robbed a bank to keep the same situation from playing out again, if such a thing were possible. But it wasn’t. Valentine’s Day was a struggle he had to face head on.

With a “Have a wonderful day, Akaashi-kun!” the girls skipped naively into the building, leaving him alone to prepare for what was to come.

Akaashi’s polite but frank honesty was normally a point of personal pride. It wasn’t that he enjoyed hurting people. But it was kinder, more respectful, to be truthful. Better to cause a small, immediate pain than to dance around reality and leave false hope in his wake. To subject people to the sort of oblivious humiliation that came with deception was a kind of cruelty that rarely justified itself.

But if the darting eyes and nervous giggles of the previous week still meant what they had in junior high, he was going to test the true limits of his ethical convictions. It was likely he’d be spending the entire day making girls he barely knew burst into tears. And since, contrary to popular rumor, Akaashi wasn’t made of _stone_ , he didn’t know if his heart could take it.

But it would have to, because the second set of chocolates came with feelings attached.

He always remembered the first confession of February fourteenth with particular intensity. It wasn’t as though he forgot the others, of course he didn’t. But the first one haunted him because it was always either the haughtiest, or carried deep, fragile sincerity.

This one was the latter: an oddball, bookish girl who was actually one of his favorite classmates. But any aspirations of closer friendship were shattered the moment she caught him at the bottom of the stairs, holding a beautiful cupcake wrapped in iridescent cellophane. Based on the way she was looking at him, she had probably never given chocolates to anyone before in her life. By extension, her confession was the most self-aware and dramatic he’d ever gotten.  

“I'm pretty certain you don’t want my affections, Akaashi-kun, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you how much I admire you. So take this,” she shoved the homemade confection into his chest, “and remember me fondly?”

Her request gave the impression that she was about to disappear into the ether.

He held the cupcake in his hands, and gave her a single nod. Because he definitely _would_ remember, even though she wasn’t going anywhere. He'd remember in the short term because he'd be unhappy about the space that was already sprouting between them. He’d remember in the long term because she at least had the guts to admit that this was all about her and not about him.

Because it never was. Not in the slightest. And it wasn’t their fault, really. The entire nature of the holiday prompted this sort of cold-call approach to communicate emotions. But if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi _hated_ sweets.

 

 

By lunch, he’d taken a break from being dignified and respectful in his rejections, and was eating his lunch in the supply closet outside of his classroom. If it weren’t for the five confessions he’d received on his way into his section of the building, the four times he'd been pulled into the hallway before class had started, and the single instance he'd been cornered at his desk in full view of everyone, he would have just sat and waited for giggly variations of: “Akaashi-kuuuuun...” and gotten them over with.

But he was so hungry. And he’d already made five girls cry. A break was necessary, or his slow simmering rage over the entire situation would spill out into his interactions; something that would make him feel infinitely worse. Preventing that was worth the humiliation of hiding to steal himself fifteen minutes’ worth of self-care.

In the closet he could hear more girls approach, while his progressively more irritated classmates made excuses for him. He’d tried to bribe them for their silence with chocolates – a terrible idea that they'd found ungrateful and insulting. But he couldn’t see into the hearts of everyone at _all_ _times_. It did make sense upon further consideration, since they weren’t really getting any chocolates themselves. He didn't know why they were covering for him now, but he expected payback at some very inconvenient point in the future.

In general, it was very difficult to explain to anyone just how uncomfortable Valentine’s Day was without coming out of the closet (both figuratively and at this point literally), and also just _bragging_. There was no way to say "girls won't leave me alone because they mistakenly think I'm perfect" without sounding like an utter jackass. But it was the truth. He still felt objectified, and it hurt to lose what he thought were friends this way, either through rejection, or some misguided sense of competition. He was sixteen years old, and though he was considered steady and perceptive for good reason, his personality was not yet equipped to handle this level of identity management.

He should have just offered to let his classmates copy his homework instead. 

When it finally seemed that the girls had stopped asking for him, he heard the familiar sound of extremely heavy footfalls thud past his closet. The doors to the classroom rattled as someone leaned heavily against them.

“Where’s Akaaashi?" a readily identifiable voice inquired through a mouthful of chips. The volume was barely muffled by the door.

His classmates laughed derisively, knowing full well that Akaashi could hear, “Hiding from all the girls who keep confessing to him. Cowardly bastard.”

There was the sound of a scuffle, and somebody shouting, “Calm down, you nutjob, we were just joking!” and Akaashi realized his brief respite had come to an abrupt end.

He stepped out of the closet with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Good afternoon, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto dropped the collar of the boy he was grabbing, his face full of childish guilt. He looked even more disheveled than usual. His hair was out of place, the knot of his tie was hanging down around his third button, and he’d managed to get food all over his constantly untucked shirt. To be fair, Akaashi’s classmate didn’t look much better. And since Akaashi himself had just been hiding from his admirers in a small dark space, it seemed he had no room to talk.

“Akaaaaashi!!” Bokuto’s eyes shone with such unbridled affection that it was hard not to smile back. “I was thinking, you know, that maybe we could sit down and come up with a training regimen for the team? That is, if you wanted…” 

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Bokuto-san.”

At his words, Bokuto's face lit up even further. "So do you wanna do it now, then?" he asked eagerly. Akaashi felt a swell of relief for managing to make at least one person something other than miserable on Valentine's Day.

But the moment was interrupted by the delicate clearing of someone's throat.

A somewhat unexpected duo of girls – two very popular third years – was for some reason standing in the first years' hallway. A statuesque beauty, and her equally adorable, tiny friend were looking Akaashi up and down as though they were pleasantly surprised by what they saw.

"Akaashi-kun," the smaller shot him a friendly grin, "Kimi-chan's out by the second gym. She was hoping you might come speak with her?"

His classmates gasped behind him. Kimi-chan, or Kimura Hiroko to the plebeian masses, was debatably the most attractive, popular girl in school. A more undebatable fact was this: she was someone Akaashi had never spoken to in his life.

"Just a minute here, girls," Bokuto took a self-important step forward, "my vice captain and I have some important club stuff to talk about."

"Do you have another disappointing national failure to orchestrate, Bokuto-kun? Or was once enough?” the taller of the two girls demanded.

His ecstatic smile crumpled in on itself like a collapsing building. After a long pause, Bokuto turned on his heel and slouched his way down the hall, head down, hands in his pockets. Akaashi knew the signs of one of his captain’s devastated moods, and this was certainly it. If they were at practice or in a match or really almost anywhere else, he'd know how to handle the situation. But this wasn’t a tantrum. It was a legitimate reaction to something horrible. And standing in the first years' hallway, in full view of everyone, it seemed like he might embarrass his senpai even more by following him. Not to mention these awful people vying for his attention.

Behind him, his classmates were snickering, and the girls were outright laughing.

The seething rage that had been surging through Akaashi’s veins at the discomfort of the day finally had an outlet. 

"Are you under the impression that uncalled-for rudeness to my team captain is going to motivate me to speak to a complete stranger more quickly?" he inquired the same way he might ask about the weather.

The tall girl’s jaw dropped, and his classmates gasped behind him for a second time.

"Are you seriously defending that hot mess?" she sputtered. "He lost us Nationals!"

Us? As though she’d played. Akaashi's jaw clenched, but he released it immediately, cool logic taking center stage.

"If you had any understanding of volleyball, you'd know that a single person neither wins, nor loses a game," he said, mild and ruthless. "Now, I'll ask you again: how do you think I'll approach your friend when this unfortunate interaction is heavy on my mind?"

The girl's friend nudged her knee, first gently, then with more enthusiasm. "Bokuto's harmless, Chiyo," she whispered loud enough for Akaashi to hear. "He's just loud. And pretty nice, when he’s not being an idiot."

For several moments, no one said or did anything.

"Fine," the tall girl finally muttered in Akaashi's general direction. "I probably shouldn't have said something like that. I'll... apologize."

Akaashi nodded, "Then, if you'll excuse me, I should try to catch Kimura-san before the end of lunch."

Someone needed to make this pseudo-holiday illegal.

 

 

He was used to princesses of both the evil and benevolent variety.

In his large extended family, Akaashi had cousins of all genders who believed their unique eye color, flattering bone structure, and loose natural curls entitled them to the universe on a platter. He also had equally beautiful cousins who worked as counsellors for transgender youth, caretakers for dementia patients, and many other occupations that required a kind heart in the face of cruel reality, but provided little in the way of actual salary.

Akaashi considered himself neither, he was more like the neutral librarian guarding spell books that contained the power to save or destroy the world. But that was besides the point. He knew how to recognize when someone was poised to use her beauty for good or ill.

And as she “confessed” it was clear that Kimura Hiroko was unquestionably doing both.

Probably in a few years, her entitlement would be gone, replaced with just the right amount of bitter life experience, but that didn't help him much now. Because even though the petite redhead seemed like a truly kind person, she also seemed convinced that pretty people should stick together.

And there was no question that they were both very pretty.

But Akaashi didn’t care about pretty at all. If he wanted pretty, he just had to look in the mirror, or at his mother, two things he did every day. Pretty was all over the television, plastered on ads in the train, on the walls of stores where he just wanted to buy socks. Pretty was mundane.

He preferred interesting faces with character.

Also _men’s_ _faces_ , a fact he was considering announcing over the school's PA system so he’d never have to endure a Valentine's Day like this again. The public anonymity he’d sought by staying closeted had grown meaningless when, for incomprehensible reasons, every girl within a five-kilometer radius seemed to want to hold his profoundly sweaty hand.

Since breaking into the school office to make a public announcement was Bokuto-levels of drastic, maybe he could just start with telling his team. It could hardly be as harrowing as coming out to his parents had been. He could go from there, seeing how it went.

"I'm sorry, Kimura-san," he bowed when she finished her entitled pseudo-confession, "but I can't return your feelings."

The beautiful girl pouted for a moment, then smiled brightly immediately afterwards, as though she had come to the only conclusion that made any sense.

"You know, I figured girls weren't your thing!" she chirped. "But even though you _are_ a first year, a face like yours doesn't come around very often. So I had to try. Keep the chocolates anyway!"

He held the beautifully packaged boutique chocolates loosely in his hands, feeling sweat slide against the wrapping paper. She knew? The most popular girl in school _knew_? But he'd been so subtle…

Or at least he thought he had been. Should he have pretended to stare at girls more often? No, that was rude and revolting. There was always the fake-girlfriend-at-another-school route, but that was always discovered. Should he have asked a girl at Fukurodani to pretend to have a relationship with him? Of course not. It was obvious that would be a complete disaster without even trying.

No. She didn’t know because he had or hadn’t done anything. She had guessed. And it was for exact the same reason that this entire day was so unpleasant in the first place.

Because he was _pretty_.

No one knew anything about Akaashi Keiji beyond the obvious. They knew that he looked nice, got good grades, and was a first-year starter on the volleyball team. No one ever seemed to get past those few pieces of information. No one ever seemed to try. They all just assumed a certain level of perfection that absolutely was not there, and paid homage to it on Valentine’s Day.

They didn't know that Akaashi sweat more than any person he'd ever met, so much so that he had to use prescription deodorant to make it through the day without ruining his uniform. They didn't know he ate some variety of nanohana for dinner almost every night for the entire month of March because it was his favorite and only tasted good in season. They didn't know that eating that many bitter greens made his farts smell like dead animals. They didn't know he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, or that he'd be happy wearing the same outfit every day for the rest of his life. They didn't know how painfully shy he'd been as a child. How, deep inside, he still was, and admired anyone who had the guts to be unabashedly loud. They didn't know he had acne all over his ass.

_And they didn't know he hated sweets._

"Since you’re not interested," Kimura ignored his thought process completely. Or, more accurately, was completely unaware that it was happening, "and since you seem like a safe person to ask, being gay and all, I figured... well, I was wondering about your manager, Yukie-chan? I was wondering if you knew if she happened to like, um... girls? Maybe girls like me…?"

The only thing he knew Yukie preferred was food, and lots of it. But even if he did know...

"I couldn't say one way or the other," he answered stiffly. "It's never come up."

Kimura bit her lip, and he was certain anyone who was spying on them thought it an adorable gesture. "Ah, don't worry yourself, Keiji-kun. I'm not going to tell anyone your secret… as long as you keep mine." 

 

 

The rest of the day felt strangely bearable after that, though his bag was completely full and his patience close to the breaking point by the time he made his way to the volleyball club room.

Since the third years had all resigned to focus on their exams and there weren’t any regular first years to speak of other than himself, he was left with a room full of the second years that made up the bulk of the team. Bokuto's absence was noticeable. Although Akaashi expected he'd have to go find him eventually, it was better this way if he wanted to unload the excess sugar. It hadn't escaped his notice that their captain's popularity began and ended on the volleyball court. He probably had received obligation chocolates, if any. Given his competitive nature, the offer of Akaashi's ample charity would bring him down even further than the encounter at lunch already had.

The rest of the team, on the other hand, had girlfriends so they’d get over it.

"Excuse me, I...” Akaashi lifted his voice over the low chatter of the room, "have two announcements and a request, if you don’t mind?"

His teammates looked back at him confused. Making proclamations wasn't quite his style. Komi scratched his head while Konoha's disconcerting smirk seemed to grow just a bit deeper. But it was now or never.

"I'm gay,” Akaashi exhaled. “I hate sweets. But no one seems to know this, so could you please take these off my hands?" He tipped his bag, scattering dozens of packages of chocolates across the bench. Four sets of eyes gazed back at him with deep admiration, while a buzzing tension filled the room. 

As expected of a libero, Komi sprung first, gathering packages into his arms as quickly as he could with little regards for what they actually contained, or even if he was squashing them.

"What do you think you’re doing, you greedy shrimp?" Konoha and Sarukui surged forward to try to get their share, shoving each other and Komi until they were all falling on the floor, surrounded by their scattered plunder. With his teammates all down, Washio reached out to pluck a single perfect cupcake wrapped in iridescent cellophane from the bench, a small smile of delight on his face.

"Here," Konoha tossed a store bought box back to Akaashi, "give this to Yukie, it's her favorite. Oh, and do you need us to talk about the gay thing? Or was that just to let us know so we stop pushing Sarukui's magnificent porn collection on you?"

Sarukui shrugged, no guilt whatsoever on his face, “I have sophisticated tastes, but I don’t expect everyone to share them.”

"The gay _thing_?" Komi scowled through a mouth full of salted caramels. "You can't say that, you smarmy asshole."

"Sorry, Akaashi, I didn't realize I was being indelicate. Do we need to discuss your _budding homosexuality_ my young kohai? Or did you just want us to know, same way you know we’re straight?"

He laughed behind his hand, "I just wanted you to know. But if you could..."

"Keep it to ourselves?" Sarukui chimed in. "Got it." Washio gave a thumbs up as he delicately unwrapped his cupcake. Given the care that had gone into making it, his reverence in eating it was appropriate, and made Akaashi feel a bit better.

"How 'bout the ace?" Komi's words were barely recognizable through the mess of salty sugar in his mouth.

  Akaashi hadn't really thought about that. It wasn't that he wanted to keep anything from Bokuto, but he had just decided that afternoon to tell the _team_. As a unit. Once he'd built up the momentum to do so, he couldn't have waited. Now that it was done, sitting down one-on-one and coming out to the single person on the team that he was building the most intimacy with… it had had an emotional intensity he hadn't really considered. But leaving him now out would unquestionably hurt Bokuto’s feelings and bite Akaashi in the ass. 

"Feel free to tell him if he asks," was what Akaashi settled with, even though it felt wrong. He was more or less banking on the assumption that if Bokuto had a question like that, he’d just ask Akaashi himself.

 

 

Their captain still hadn’t arrived when they made their way from the locker room to the third gymnasium where practice was being held this week. The walk to the gym turned out to be the easiest all day, and he realized it was because Washio and Konoha were purposely staring down any girl who seemed to want to approach him. He wasn't sure what was more off-putting, Washio's scowl or Konoha's smirk. And although he didn’t necessarily need their help, he couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful.

Just as they arrived, there was a flash of white and grey and a shouted promise to just be a minute. That level of speed wasn’t the sign of any emotional desolation. It was an incredible relief. Perhaps the third year had apologized, and in the strange way that seemed to so often happen in films, she and Bokuto had become tentative friends. Either way, the captain was not unhappy, so Akaashi felt comfortable leaving him to his own devices while he led the warmup.

It felt more than a little strange.

Though the team had been the ones who'd elected him, it still was bizarre being both the youngest and the vice captain. Granted, he’d been playing volleyball since early elementary school, so it wasn’t as though he was new to the sport. But even after almost a year, he was new to Fukurodani. Shaking out the awkwardness that was trying to settle in his shoulders, he calmly called out the stretches.

Shortly afterwards, Bokuto bounded into the gym, fired up in a way that promised a productive team practice, as opposed to the one-on-one spiking drills that lasted until Akaashi's fingers were on the verge of falling off. Ironically enough, Bokuto's placid mood and easy cooperation through the afternoon made Akaashi _want_ to stay for spiking practice anyway, his previous exhaustion forgotten. They finished with laps of diving drills, and even being forced to put on kneepads didn't darken his mood.

"Awh man, I wish I didn't have to go to my stupid appointment," Bokuto complained as he stripped out of his jersey in the locker room. "Feels like I would hit some _awesome_ spikes, Akaashi." 

"Agreed. You're in excellent form today, Bokuto-san," Akaashi had one foot on the bench as he struggled with the kneepads that were sticking to his sweaty legs.

 Bokuto dropped his shirt and grabbed Akaashi by the shoulders, wild with the praise. "Really?!? You think so? What was good?? I thought my straights were more controlled than normal, was it that???"

"All of you was more controlled than normal, Bokuto-san."

"It's true," Sarukui agreed, returning from the showers. "Did a pretty girl give you chocolates or something?"

But Bokuto wasn't listening, instead he was tipping his head and looking at Akaashi from multiple angles.

"Akaashi," he observed without a single hint of malice or mockery. "I think you might be the sweatiest person I've ever met."

Everyone in the room sighed and there was the sound of palm against forehead. Sarukui seemed to be preparing some kind of lecture, when Akaashi started to laugh.

At first they thought he was crying. His chuckling tended to sound like whimpers to people who hadn't heard it before, and he had a habit of laughing behind his hand. But Bokuto, who was standing right in front of him, could see the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and knew what was going on.

"I mean, _Akaashi_ ," he snickered, "how many undershirts shirts do you go through a day?"

And he really should have been offended, or at least a little defensive, but after an entire day spent as the victim of his own face, someone noticing the most disgusting thing about himself was more delightful than anything. His laughter gained a hysterical quality, and Bokuto followed suit, even though there was no way he understood just why it was that the situation was so hilarious. Things escalated until they were howling, grabbing onto each other's shoulders as they tried to keep from falling to the ground.

"I think our ace finally broke our setter," Komi muttered at the point when they were on the floor, tears running down their faces. The observation got a grunt from Washio and a sad nod from Sarukui.

Konoha seemed to have washed his hands of the whole business.

 

 

It wasn't until Akaashi got home that he noticed the plastic bag in his satchel that hadn’t been there before.

It absolutely couldn't be a Valentine's Day gift. First of all, the only girl who'd have access to his bag was Yukie, and she'd given them all chocolates at the end of practice. Except for Akaashi: she’d reluctantly given him her second lunch, convenience store onigiri, when the team informed her that he didn’t like sweets. He tried to tell her that it was just fine, but she refused to take no for an answer.

Secondly, no one gave Valentine's Day chocolate in a flimsy plastic bag. Even the onigiri, the obligation gift to end all obligation gifts (and coincidentally the best gift thus far), was prettily packaged, with a small red bow she’d pulled off of the box of chocolates and stuck on the corner.

Despite the fact that it couldn’t be, the flimsy plastic bag was full of chocolate bars.

But no kind he'd ever seen before: American and European brands, with the international store's sticker on every bar. Even stranger, they were the kind of flavors you'd expect from a limited edition KitKat, not from actual Valentine's chocolate. Things like wasabi, ginger, and sesame, hot pepper, and even mustard. Flipping the last bar to read the ingredients, he noticed that sugar was very low on the list, indicating that there wasn’t a lot of it. As he scanned the English descriptions, one phrase stood out.

"Smooth bitter notes dance across the tongue." 

These were chocolates. But by the look of things, they weren't sweet. 

With nervous curiosity he opened the mustard bar. It was one of his favorite flavors and also sounded the most disgusting with chocolate; might as well start there. Breaking off a small corner, he brought the chocolate to his lips to investigate. He was shocked by what he discovered. Instead of cloying, sickly sugar, his taste buds were overwhelmed by a rich amalgam of coffee, clove, fig, and other spices he recognized, but could not name. This was all followed by the sharp bite of mustard that added just a little heat. 

It was absolutely delicious. 

They all were, every single bar, to the point where he selfishly decided to only share his least favorite (spicy pepper – it was still delicious) with his sweets-hating mother, so that he could keep the rest for himself. 

A small smile lifted his cheeks. In his life, he’d endured twelve years of Valentine’s Days with his peers, each more overwhelming than the last. This was the first time that anyone had ever given him chocolate that he actually liked. What’s more, it came with no strings whatsoever, tucked into his bag without even a name attached. 

That made him want to know.

With Yukie ruled out, it left only members of the team – no one else could get into the club room. But none of them had had the opportunity to be with his satchel unobserved, let alone the sort of motivation to go to the international store and translate pretentious English and Dutch food words just in the off chance that their teammate might like artisanal dark chocolate. 

Although.

Actually, _Bokuto_ had been in there alone, but their captain was so attention-desperate it was difficult to believe he’d give someone a gift without any sort of recognition for doing so. Not to mention he was abysmal at English – Akaashi regularly found himself tutoring him before and after practice – and certainly couldn’t read Dutch.

Digging in the plastic bag again for some kind of clue, Akaashi pulled out a scrap of paper he'd missed before. It was a tiny doodle of an owl with droopy green eyes and floppy dark feathers. In so many words, an owl that looked strikingly like himself. 

The answer hit him like a serve to the face. There was only one person who would draw something like that. Only one person who had the opportunity to get into his bag. It was clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who had given him the only chocolates he'd ever enjoyed. 

The question of motivation was something else entirely.  

 

 

Akaashi's eye had been on Bokuto Koutarou since before he’d even been accepted to Fukurodani. When he saw the wild-looking wing spiker utterly destroy an impenetrable wall through sheer strength at a junior high match, Akaashi had looked down at his own slender arms and decided he was going to get stronger himself because _that_ was the sort of person he wanted to toss for. Luckily that sort of person had been accepted to the sort of high school his parents insisted Akaashi attend.

Unfortunately, his new team needed his accurate toss and adaptable style more than they needed Akaashi to do over three pull ups in a row. More importantly, they needed him to reign in their ace as he taught himself to hit a perfect straight, a task that Akaashi had taken to easily, despite his realization that the senpai he admired was almost intolerably emotional.

With such a history of observation, it was obviously no secret to the setter that Bokuto thrived off of attention, in the general and the specific. A roaring crowd or an individual compliment:  both had the power to raise his self-confidence to astronomical levels. On the court, it was Akaashi’s job to harness that confidence. 

While Akaashi was still in junior high, Yukie had had gotten into the habit of misleading Bokuto once she realized certain white lies vastly improved his performance. She generally told him that a member of the crowd, a pretty girl more often than not, had noticed him. And although there was no question that the cheap tactic resulted in a surge of positivity, it also meant the wing-spiker was distracted by the thought of a pretty girl. He'd glance at the bleachers after his spikes instead of recovering, and ended up making more mistakes than he might have otherwise. 

Akaashi was not about to tell their manager that her technique was flawed. It was more a matter of philosophy than anything, since it took little time to make up a story like that, and less time to tell it. But he himself tried to rely on the team's support, honest positive feedback, and the strength of their opponents to draw out the raw, feral power that was always simmering somewhere under Bokuto’s skin.

At the end of the day, Akaashi was certain that Bokuto loved volleyball more than he loved girls. 

But Akaashi had been certain of quite a lot of things about his unruly ace. And now it seemed clear that those assumptions were not certain at all. Because, based on Akaashi's direct observations, Bokuto Koutarou liked girls. He definitely would never give Valentine’s Day chocolates to another guy. And even if he did, he would never do so without lurking around to see the look on said guy’s face when he discovered them.

And yet he unquestionably had.

 

 

Their next morning practice was less refreshing than usual, due to the fact that Akaashi had barely gotten any sleep. He sent Konoha’s tosses to Washio, Washio’s tosses to Sarukui, Sarukui’s tosses to Bokuto, and Bokuto’s to Konoha, who ended up getting tangled in the net since Bokuto liked them so close.

Their coach stepped outside to get some air, or perhaps to scream where the team couldn’t hear him.

“Akaaaashi… are you _sick_?” Bokuto was markedly more concerned about him than he was about Konoha, despite the latter still having pieces of net stuck in his teeth. “You look real tired.”

“I always look tired, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi smiled apologetically at Konoha for the fourth time.

“Nahhhh, I mean, you’ve got real dark circles under your eyes. And you’re kinda… twitchy.”

Akaashi grunted noncommittally, then apologized to his teammates once more.

“Alright!” Bokuto bounced and clapped, “it’s kinda hard to scrimmage with this many players, so let’s go for a run to finish, eh? Good luck catching me this time, Komi-yan.”

The coach didn’t even ask when they passed him at the door, pulling on their track pants and jackets.

Running was a much easier activity to do half asleep than setting was, and although Akaashi found himself at the back of the pack, he certainly wasn’t slacking off. The cold air felt nice on his skin, and distracted him from his exhaustion. He hadn’t even realized that the rest of the team had pulled ahead until he was running next to the captain and no one else.

The ace was usually half a kilometer ahead of everyone whenever they ran.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi huffed, “it’s really unnecessary to keep an eye on me. I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”

At his side there was an enormous laugh, then Bokuto slyly remarked, “You know, Akaashi, not _everything_ is about you.”   

He whipped his head to the side, for once irritation plain and unmasked on his face. Instead of running, Bokuto was leaping so he was ahead then behind Akaashi with every other step. The look on his face was one that delicately balanced full awareness of the irony of his previous statement with the idiotic pride at making it in the first place. With only a basic understanding of the deep repercussions of his actions and words, Bokuto was simpleminded, unquestionably. But that didn’t mean he was stupid. He was actually surprisingly clever. 

Bokuto laughed again, then started running backwards with the flawless agility that indicated he did such a thing frequently. “The thing is,” he said earnestly, “if you were too sick to run you’d just say, Akaashi. You take good care of yourself, just like you take good care of the team.”

Akaashi tripped on nothing and felt strong hands catch his arm right before he bit the sidewalk.

“I try, Bokuto-san,” he said with as much dignity as he could pull together.

They resumed running, albeit much slower than before.

“No, but what I wanted to say was, uh, I hope your… thing with Kimi-chan went alright yesterday. Sorry for messing it up.”

“There was nothing to mess up. I'd never spoken to her before yesterday, and I’m unlikely to do so again.”

“You turned her down?” Bokuto gasped.

“I don’t like sweets, and I don’t like girls. So yes. I did.” And there it was. Just like that. Not awkward at all.

Except for the sudden clang, as Fukurodani’s star player ran directly into a pole.

 

 

“I should be the one apologizing, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi insisted as they slowly walked back. Luckily Bokuto had no visible damage to his head, but he was still rather unsteady on his feet, and was leaning against Akaashi heavily.

“What’re you talkin’ bout, Akaashi?”

“One of Kimura-san’s friends was cruel to you, and it was somewhat my fault.”

Bokuto turned his head, and his breath was on Akaashi’s neck as he chuckled. “I’m used to that. Outside of volleyball, people think I’m uh… kinda... _annoying_ , I guess?”

Akaashi blinked, not certain what to say. He had not anticipated this level of self-awareness from a person who threw daily tantrums on the court and had just ran headfirst into a pole. Maybe it was due to the pole, actually…

“They think I don’t notice because I'm an idiot. But I'm _not_. I'm smart as hell when I gotta be. Anyway... I just ignore it, mostly. Cause what else am I supposed to do, y’know? Try to be somebody else? Somebody else isn’t the fourth ranked spiker in the whole country. My… uh… well… a person I talk to a lot said that I’m just not for everybody, and everybody’s not for me. That's not a reason to change who I am.”

“I think you’re rather exceptional, Bokuto-san,” the words spilled out without his intending to say them. Although exceptional was the most appropriate word, since it was neither entirely positive or negative.   

“Really??”

Akaashi turned his head just a bit, and already their faces were much too close. Bokuto smelled like sweat, bubblegum, and something piney.

“Do I make a habit of lying to you, Missed-the-Top-Three-san?”

 

 

With their ace sent home on concussion watch, afternoon practice was a well-oiled machine that ended promptly on time with no extra practice afterwards. Instead of going home to his empty house, Akaashi used the opportunity to take the train deeper into the city to visit the international store.

It was a cowardly move, certainly. Bokuto was memorable and chatty. If he _had_ bought chocolates there, the cashier was bound to remember both the wild-haired teenager, as well as the reason why said teenager bought mustard-flavored dark chocolate. Because he would have told them at least six times.

The feeble excuse of Bokuto’s potential concussion and necessary recovery was not the actual reason Akaashi wasn’t asking the ace outright. Normally that was absolutely what he would have done. But he wasn’t certain of the actual reason he was avoiding an up front approach since he wouldn’t allow himself to think on it for more than a few moments at a time.

This wasn’t the first time he’d used his impressive emotional discipline for unhealthy purposes. And it wouldn’t be the last.

The store was massive, full of bizarre foreign foods that were probably made out of cardboard. He wound his way through the aisles looking for the chocolates, because actually purchasing something was part of his plan. He picked several chocolate bars in flavors he was familiar with to share with his mother, and some new ones for himself. He made his way to the register, pleased to see that no one was around but the cashier, a tall, dark-haired woman with feral eyes that gave him a sense of unplaceable déjà vu.

"You know, you're the second person in two days who's bought this weird stuff," she offered as he paid, saving him the trouble of bringing it up.

In order to seem disarming and trustworthy, he tried very hard to show more emotion than normal. It felt like he was wringing out his soul with the effort. "Was the other one this high schooler with crazy grey and-"

"You mean Koutarou-kun?" She grinned out of the side of her face, and Akaashi suddenly realized where he'd seen her eyes before. "What makes you ask, handsome?”

The jingle of the door was the only warning he got before a very familiar voice behind him was leering, “Ohoho… what do we have here?”

 

 

“So you wanna know why Bokuto gave you chocolates?” Kuroo repeated his question, holding a tiny teacup in his enormous hand.

“He just said that, you don’t have to repeat it,” Kenma muttered into his Vita.

“People don’t usually say what they really want,” Kuroo shot back. “That’s why you always repeat it.”

Kenma rolled his eyes as though he had more to say but wasn’t going to, then took a delicate sip of the mountain of whipped cream masquerading as a latte.

Akaashi let the bitterness of his own black coffee permeate his senses before responding. “Yes, Kuroo-san. I would like to know, but I would prefer my pursuit of knowledge not cause any chaos.”

“So don’t tell Koutarou,” Kenma directed to Kuroo again. He had whipped cream on his upper lip and nose.

Kuroo sat down his tea, “Well, that’s fine, I guess, but I’d think you of all people would know that the best way to find out is to just ask.”

Akaashi _was_ well aware and the fact that he wasn’t doing so was physically painful.  

“Cause the thing is,” Kuroo leaned back and put his arms behind his head, “I’m not going to tell you.” 

Kenma rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t as though he expected anything different. It had only taken a single training camp to see that Kuroo was both a first-order meddler and also a lot kinder than he seemed. Akaashi wasn’t certain if his sometimes-opponent’s obstinacy was out of pure loyalty, or part of a larger scheme, but either way, he was now forced to do the single thing he wanted to do least in the world.

Approach his actual feelings on the matter.

There was a profound difference between knowing you were attracted to men and having feelings for one. The former was just something you knew. At least it always had been for him. He’d known from elementary school that he was drawn to other boys aesthetically, and that evolved into sexually. And when he imagined a bizarre future where he had a job and came home to his family, there was never a wife, only a husband, someone who he cooked dinner with. A person who managed to make Akaashi laugh somehow. A man who had done the rigorous work to actually get to know him, because Akaashi had admittedly not made it easy.

That was all conceptual, though. Other than a crush on Gon Freecss when he was ten, Akaashi had never had feelings for anyone. It was hard to say why, exactly. It wasn’t that he was opposed to the idea and it wasn’t that he didn’t experience romantic attraction. But there was always a choice to move forward with that initial interest, something he’d never done. The combination of situation (being gay in high school seemed like it would draw nothing but unwanted attention, both positive and negative) and inconvenience (who had time for such things?) left him always deciding that romance was off the table. It just wasn’t something he was planning to consider until after his college entrance exams or final volleyball season, whichever came last.

So if someone were to ask three days ago if he’d ever thought of his captain romantically, the answer would be “absolutely not.”

But if someone were to ask the same question now…

Across the café table, Kuroo grinned wickedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i watch way too much shoujo, so akaashi is always gonna get cliched confessions.
> 
> part two will be updated on white day (march 14th). yes, i know that's a month but keiji needs time to think.


	2. white

White Day arrangements began the day Bokuto came back to practice; a few days after Akaashi had eaten all the chocolates Bokuto had secretly given him. Preparing for his response to Valentine’s Day was a process that Akaashi had perfected years ago. It was not one that he particularly liked, but one that he was competent at. And everything hinged upon the first step:

His spreadsheet.

Really, it was his father’s spreadsheet – a document he’d created after the disastrous seventh-grade Valentine’s Day that had lost Akaashi over half his friends and earned him the hatred of nearly every girl in his class. In a desperate effort to recover, Akaashi had spent the entire night of February fourteenth trying to organize the names of his unwanted admirers, not to mention the kind classmates who gave him obligation chocolates. He had planned on returning the favor in a personal but pointedly platonic way.

But his process had been too unwieldy. After having reacted so poorly on the day itself, it had been obvious that he needed to be very careful with his White Day response. There had been too many people to keep track of in two notebooks. He’d needed to be thorough so he could be thoughtful.

His dad had found him in tears, nearly tearing out his hair. Akaashi hadn’t wanted to tell him what was wrong, but in the end, his gratitude for the help had been hard to contain. His father was relentlessly practical, always considering the present and the future in everything he did. The spreadsheet, as well as the straightforward philosophy about what Akaashi did and did not owe to strangers who gave unsolicited offerings, were both gifts to his son that was likely to last a lifetime.

The spreadsheet kept track of Akaashi’s admirers, but more importantly, it did so for the long term. Upon giving Akaashi a gift, be it for Valentine’s Day, Christmas, his birthday, or some other reason, the giver was included. Once in the spreadsheet, they were permanently tracked, holiday by holiday, even if they stopped giving Akaashi anything. Each holiday contained such fields as: type of gift, reasoning behind the gift, had Akaashi ever spoke to them before? were they friends? was there a confession? when was their birthday? did the giver have any food allergies?

There had never been a field for gender, even after he’d come out to his parents and extended family. The thought of needing to add one now made Akaashi blush just a little. Just a little, before he grew disgusted with himself. He’d been doing that more and more lately and it was profoundly upsetting. But in a life of never really having a reason to blush, Bokuto was a fine person to start blushing over. He wasn’t upset over that.

He wasn’t certain what he was upset over.

But in terms of his unwanted haul, this year was fairly similar to the last in volume, though the number of obligation chocolates had decreased. It made sense. He was at a new school and girls hadn’t learned that Akaashi Keiji was uninterested in their confessions or feelings. But it was a bigger hassle. Obligation chocolates were affordable to reciprocate. They always made the recipient happy. Confession rejections were more delicate. He didn’t _have_ to do anything at all, but when he’d tried that, resentment levels skyrocketed. Smoothing things over required a more personal touch. That meant spending a great deal more money on things that came from store displays.

Akaashi had no intentions on spending three months’ allowance on people who didn’t even know what his favorite color was.

He’d never made anything by hand before – it gave the wrong impression and just wasn’t expected on White Day – but it would certainly be personal and cheap. He _was_ at a new school: no one knew anything about him. He wasn’t opposed to coming across as weird. Could he give everyone homemade cookies?

He’d have to learn to bake first, of course.

Strategizing over sweets kept him from thinking about Bokuto. Not thinking about Bokuto had become a herculean effort lately, as there were a lot of Bokuto-related concerns to agonize over. They were somewhat unorganized and chaotic, which probably worsened with every passing day Akaashi ignored them.  

There were some things about the situation that were easy to think about. For instance, he was very glad that, other than Kuroo, Kuroo’s _mother_ , and Kenma no one knew about Bokuto and the chocolates. It was a blessing if for no other reason, that they avoided the “Wait. Does that make Bokuto the _girl_?” conversations that were almost certain to take place. He didn’t even trust his teammates not to go there.

A relief because no. Bokuto was not the girl. No one was. That was the whole point of Akaashi being gay; there were no girls.

At the same time, a small part of Akaashi was disappointed. It was not a shock to him that he was considered gorgeous. He anticipated society to paint him as “the girl” for the rest of his life. This could be his only chance to tell gender roles and heteronormativity to go to hell with a real-life demonstration of a burly guy giving the pretty guy romantic chocolates on Valentine’s Day.

But that was making a lot of assumptions, most obviously: Bokuto being gay and on top of that, his being gay specifically for Akaashi. The whole situation was Schrödinger’s crush: feelings that both existed and didn’t simultaneously. There was no way to know.

Unless Akaashi asked.

This delved into more dangerous considerations. He’d thought about asking. When Bokuto returned from his blunt force trauma encounter with a pole and the resulting concussion watch, he had acted more or less the same. Knowing about Akaashi’s sexuality hadn’t changed much of anything. Bokuto was as ridiculous as ever.

Well, there were a few minor adjustments. At lunch, Bokuto stopped asking Akaashi if certain girls were cute. Instead he just talked about how cute _he_ thought certain girls were, leaving Akaashi’s opinion out of it. Boys were never brought into the picture, which Akaashi was mostly appreciative of, since the most attractive boy in school was unquestionably Konoha. For many reasons, most importantly the size of Konoha’s incredibly straight head, Akaashi wanted to keep his opinion on the subject to himself. Since Bokuto had a certain way of unintentionally wringing information out of him, it was good he didn’t ask.

But that was it.

Bokuto still stood in nothing but his sweaty, clinging boxer briefs next to Akaashi in the club room. He did it even after their extended practice when only the two of them were there. He flailed around as he talked, unintentionally showcasing muscles that had always existed. But now Akaashi was forced to contemplate that maybe those muscles were gay, and interested in slender, slate-eyed setters. Once, in a quiet moment when Akaashi was supposed to be examining the contents of his locker, Bokuto had made his left pectoral muscle _dance_ , then chuckled to himself about it.

So really nothing was different. About Bokuto.

 

“Have you asked him yet?”

Kuroo was on his third cup of tea, and Kenma was napping under the kotatsu. It was a mixed blessing that Kuroo’s family owned and lived behind the international store. The tall, cat-eyed, wild-haired staff always gave Akaashi a discount as he supported his family’s newfound bitter chocolate addiction. But Kuroo and Kenma were also almost always there. Typically they were in the back room, curled up under the kotatsu, reading and playing games respectively. While Akaashi did not mind the company as he waited for a less high traffic time to take his train, Kuroo was a pain in the ass and Kenma was an ominous sort of mystery that Akaashi had earmarked for further investigation.

“I have not asked him,” Akaashi took a sip of the mustard hot cocoa that Kuroo-san had made. It was delicious, and Kuroo curled his lips in disgust whenever Akaashi took a sip. That made it even more delicious.

“Give it a rest, Kuro,” came the murmur from under the kotatsu. Only the crown of Kenma’s head was visible. Akaashi had assumed he was asleep.

Kuroo wiggled around in a way that indicated he was somehow interacting with the body under the table. “Kenma, he’s gotta ask!”

“He’s not an idiot.”

How encouraging.

“Is it even necessary that I ask? If there were an important reason to give me Valentine’s chocolates, he would have simply said so. That is how Bokuto-san works. He thrives on attention. This was just a whim. Perhaps he pitied me and didn’t want others to know. Kind but unnecessary. He’s never seen the volume of Valentine’s chocolate I receive.”

Kuroo blinked, opened his mouth to say something, then thought the better of it.

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t keep showing up here,” Kenma said, the sound of his fingers on the keys of his handheld game echoing in the ensuing silence.

It really wasn’t appropriate for Kuroo to laugh so much at things that didn’t concern him in the slightest.  

Akaashi asked his mother if, from then on, _she_ could stop at the international store for chocolate.

 

Bokuto, who Akaashi had decided would no longer be a point of concern, had been spending their most recent lunches together massaging his quads. That is, if massaging was the word for savagely punching a sore muscle in the hopes that the two hurts would cancel each other out. The spot where they ate lunch was secluded to begin with, but the terrible grunting noises Bokuto made cleared off any newcomers right away.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi began after he’d finished his entire lunch, “is your leg troubling you?”

Releasing his white-knuckled fist, Bokuto looked up, thrilled to be asked, like he’d just been waiting, and maybe he was going to illustrate the situation. Akaashi did not want to see what was under his pants. Because of the bruises. Obviously Bokuto was very attractive and he wouldn’t necessarily _mind_ seeing his quads, actually he regularly _did_ , but the bruises had to be horrible.

“Coach says I’m overworking my quads with all our extra practice,” Bokuto took to rubbing his thighs, sliding his hands up and down while rocking his entire body back and forth. The motion when he leaned back pulled his pants tight around his crotch and Akaashi wished he had something, anything left to eat to focus his attentions on. In desperation, he picked at the stray grains of mustard-coated rice left in the corners of his bento. It tasted the way foundling rice tastes when you wish it was more nanohana and it isn’t but you are eating it as a distraction anyway.

“Perhaps we should stop our extra practice until your legs adjust to your workload, Bokuto-san,” he packed up his exhaustively clean bento in three precise movements. “You’ve grown at least seven centimeters since the beginning of the year, and gained significant muscle weight. Recovery is important and you are clearly not getting enough.”

Somehow missing the extreme flattery to his physique, Bokuto protested loud enough to stir up dust.

“What? No! It’s my favorite thing! Well, I mean, volleyball is my favorite thing, but I’m getting really good thanks to extra spiking practice and you help and those things together are my favorite thing I think!”

Akaashi bit his lip, feeling a nebulous combination of feelings – vaguely annoyed, indistinctly thrilled. Also wondering how Bokuto could stretch that far in his school uniform?

“If you overwork yourself to the point of tearing your hamstring, you will lose all of your favorite things for some time.” 

“You’d come visit me though, Akaashi, so at least I’d have one.”

The heat started at the tip of Akaashi’s ears and flooded down his face. In the resulting inferno he realized something he’d known all along.

A reciprocal gift was necessary.

“I would have to spend a great deal of time training another ace. Konoha is too valuable as a multi-position player, and Saru does not want the responsibility. I’d have to pull in one of the second years. I could see you on Sundays, perhaps, to tutor you. I doubt your English will improve with the lack of muscle exertion.”

Bokuto crossed his arms, on the verge of an angry pout, “Akaaaaaaseee!”

“Or, we could resolve this issue as quickly as possible,” Akaashi stood and waited for Bokuto to follow. “It’s all a question of muscle recuperation. First of all, you need to eat better on the train ride home. Chips are not recovery food.”

The resulting pout was ridiculous and obvious as they made their way down the hall. “Then what am I supposed to eat?? Mom’s not gonna make me an extra lunch, she says I’m eating her out of house and home as it is.”

Akaashi tried to pretend that people weren’t staring at them, and maybe they weren’t but he felt like they were. Focusing on healthy recovery foods was a useful distraction.

“Bananas, nuts, salmon onigiri, broccoli or other high-iron, high-vitamin C vegetables, bean sprouts…”

“Bean sprouts???”

“They have an astounding amount of protein. Also you need to drink more water. No more sports drinks. The sugar is unnecessary.”

Bokuto leaned against a wall, slapping his arms against it in defeat. Everyone was definitely staring at them after that.

“Fine,” he whined. “But is this the _only_ thing that’s gonna help?”

“That’s up to you. Find a more rigorous stretching routine. Do it before you leave the house and before bed. Teach it to us so we can use it to warm up and cool down.”

“Guess you wanna see me at extra practice just as much as I wanna see you, eh, Akaashi?” Bokuto jibed. Akaashi felt certain that the sentence was going to haunt him for the next two weeks.

“If it means I improve as a setter,” he trimmed a carefully-formed hedge in his mind, “then absolutely.”  

 

Things devolved into emotional chaos in the days to follow. Bokuto was relentlessly normal, and Akaashi was discovering that Bokuto’s mundane existence was just the sort of person a spy agency would fling in his path in order to seduce him. This had to mean the feelings he was experiencing were cartoonish and unrealistic.

 _“Have you asked him yet?”_ Kuroo’s voice echoed in his mind as Bokuto calmed a non-starting player’s tears after the student choked spectacularly during a practice match.

 _“He’s not an idiot,”_ Kenma’s voice responded, while Bokuto gave an earnest, wholehearted, ridiculous speech about their upcoming year and how he wasn’t going to let them down so they should play their best too.

This back and forth went on and on as volleyball Bokuto earned both the respect and good-hearted mockery of his team as captain. Meanwhile, student Bokuto dropped his books and knocked people over and apologized with frantic bravado that was painful to watch.

It made Akaashi want to punch everyone who had ever made him sad. In order to do that, he’d have to train. Once again Bokuto Koutarou gave Akaashi the drive to literally become a stronger version of himself and he wondered if that didn’t mean something. Again, a cartoonish sort of something, but maybe something all the same.

It couldn’t. He was just a sixteen-year-old with perhaps one quarter of a crush because someone who wasn’t an anime character, and more importantly, showed the slightest possibility of being gay was paying attention to him. And had given him chocolates for confusing reasons.

Convenience crushes did not count and they weren’t fair to anyone. They were cheap and dangerous, even if Bokuto bending over in his underwear gave Keiji the kind of religion they talked about in Hollywood films.

Especially since he actually had no idea if Bokuto preferred any gender other than girls.

_“Have you asked him yet?”_

 

“Is… um…. anyone available to teach me how to bake?” Akaashi asked after practice.

The question came much too late. He’d put off dealing with his White Day gifts, and then put them off again. He’d finally decided to bake something, regardless of how bizarre that was, but neither of his parents could bake anything beyond burnt freezer cookies. Now he had the weekend to learn and a single day after that to serve as a catastrophe buffer.

He knew Washio could bake. More than that, Washio could probably _be_ a baker, he was that skilled. But Akaashi hadn’t asked him earlier. He hadn’t because he’d been distracted by something else. Namely what to get Bokuto as a reciprocal gift. When he’d finally decided on what was either the best or worst White Day gift ever, he rapidly realized that White Day was on Tuesday and he’d done nothing for the forty-seven girls he had to give chocolates to. 

Forty-seven girls and their hypothetical baked goods aside, he was still much more nervous about Bokuto’s gift. Did it express the right thing? What did he want it to express, exactly? Would it even work? Practically, but also would it be the appropriate response to the only chocolates Akaashi had ever enjoyed?

How had Bokuto even known that Akaashi hated sweets? Where had that thoughtfulness come from?

“I’m going to visit my grandparents in Takahagi,” Washio grunted, knowing the request was for him.

“I set the kitchen on fire once,” Komi offered.

Sarukui shrugged, “If you want mediocre baked goods, I’m your man.”

“Sorry, Keiji-kun,” Konoha rolled his shoulders and grinned hungrily, “but Megumi’s parents are out of town this weekend.”

Across the club room, Bokuto hooted, and then everyone was making a racket at the possibility of Konoha getting laid for what had to be the fifth time. It wasn’t even exciting anymore.  

Akaashi changed lightning fast, hoping to get out of the club room and maybe never ever come back.

“The Captain’ll help,” Konoha kept grinning like he knew something beyond what his long-term girlfriend’s breasts felt like. “He’s really good at shit like that. Made a cake for us last year, didn’t you, Bokuto?”

“Yeah, I’m awesome at baking things!” Bokuto flew over the bench and sat on it in a ridiculously fluid motion. Maybe he should have been a gymnast.

“So whadya wanna make, Akaashi?”

 

Shiroi Koibito

Akaashi did not even know what those were, but Bokuto had shown up with a video and a list of ingredients and these things called silpats that looked like squishy plastic mats but you put them in the oven. They were silicone, which did not melt, but Akaashi was still nervous about an apocalyptic mess.

So they were going to make Shiroi Koibito, very fancy Hokkaido cookies. Well, the homemade version, which seemed complicated. But they had white chocolate inside, and would impress everybody, and didn’t Bokuto _understand_ that Akaashi’s goal was less to impress and more to confuse?

He did not. He leaned against the counter, looking at the recipe through the cracked screen of his phone, “You’ve got a really fancy kitchen, Akaashi.”

“My father likes to cook. My mother does not, but they enjoy doing it together.”

Why the… why the _hell_ had he said that? Now this was somehow a romantic thing?

He needed to calm down.

Bokuto’s eyes lit up in excitement that spoke little of romance, “Cool! I bake with my baby sister all the time. We made our mom’s birthday cake a few weeks ago. Yuzuki’s not very good, you know, cause she’s three, but I let her put stuff in and she likes to help when I mix things.”

Was it possible to feel as though you’d dodged a bullet and yet missed out on a wonderful opportunity? Because that was what Akaashi was feeling.

After finding out just how many cookies each girl was getting, Bokuto did some math. Yes, math, and changed the recipe he’d scrawled on an important club form that he’d brought in lieu of real paper. Then they walked to the store, because baking was still not a free process.

There were no flour fights ending in romantic tension, because that wasn’t how real life worked, apparently. Also because this was only a half of a crush, nothing to have a flour fight over. Akaashi was relegated to precisely measuring ingredients (after Bokuto taught him that you measured flour and sugar differently), while Bokuto did the actually mixing. He played terrible kpop out of his phone, and sang to Akaashi, even though neither of them understood what the words meant.

Hours and hours later, twenty dozen butter cookie and white chocolate sandwich cookies were covering every flat surface in the Akaashi family apartment. Five for each girl, and a few more just in case they broke.

Bokuto ate half of the extra as his fee.

“Girls liking you seems like a real pain in the ass,” he said with his mouth full, scrolling through his nearly dead phone. “Also, did ya know these cookies are called _langoo dee chatt_? It means “cat tongue” I think. Isn’t that a weird English expression, like, when you are too nervous to say something important? Akaashi is that a thing?”

Akaashi said nothing, just washed the dishes a bit more furiously than before.

 

The sun rose on White Day the same way it would rise on any day. Akaashi groaned at the sound of his alarm the same way he groaned on any day. Normal early morning misery.

But when he looked down at his floor and saw the enormous bag full of white, lacy cellophane-wrapped cookies waiting for him he groaned a second time.

Next to the heaping bag of _langue de chat_ , white chocolate, and guilt was a medium sized box, wrapped in pristine white paper with a huge looping bow on the top. Akaashi had watched a YouTube tutorial approximately thirty times to get the bow looking professional, now he had to hide it in his bag for the entire day and somehow not crush it.

When he left his room, dressed neatly in his uniform, he found a not insignificant stack of yen on the counter instead of a bento. His mother was looking at him sympathetically, specifically the three bags he was carrying.

“I assumed you’d have a difficult time fitting a bento into your school bag, so why don’t you buy yourself some onigiri, and maybe a yakisoba bread? We’ll have nanohana for dinner. Your father can go out for ramen if he insists on behaving like a spoiled child.”

Akaashi looked up at her, and the gratitude in his eyes must have been extreme because her face softened.

“Thanks, mom.”

 

He’d printed out the spreadsheet and skipped morning practice with the coach’s permission. It hadn’t taken much to get it. All of the regulars insisted he had a terrible task ahead of him, and Akaashi had never asked for anything like this in his brief tenure as a Fukurodani volleyball player.

He found the girls in almost the exact order they’d found him a month ago. Obligation chocolates were accepted along with a “Have a wonderful day.” The girls squealed when they saw what he’d handed them, and all obligations were easily met.

Finding the girls who had confessed to him was a bit more of a challenge. Many of them refused to even look at him now. He’d considered long and hard what he could do to simultaneously soothe their feelings and make his life easier for the next two years of high school.

“I’m sorry, Mariko-san. The reason I can’t return your feelings is because I’m uninterested in girls. You’re welcome to share this information who you wish, but I am hoping you could perhaps keep this to yourself, or your close friends. The attention would be unwanted.”

Or it would perhaps make his life significantly harder.

Strangely enough, it worked. The girls teared up, many of them gave him hugs, or took his hand in theirs, thanking him for being so honest.

For being so vulnerable.

“Do you honestly think that they’re going to keep it to themselves?” Kimura asked with her mouth full of Akaashi’s (well mostly Bokuto’s) labor.

They were sitting side-by-side near the spot where she’d “confessed.” After giving her a bag of cookies, Akaashi had thanked her for her honesty a month prior. She had asked _again_ if Yukie was a lesbian. After that, they’d sat and enjoyed their lunches.

Akaashi leaned back on his hands, “I have no idea. But I doubt anyone could beat me up without my team knowing. Right now half my year despises me because I get so many chocolates from girls anyway. If news of me being out slowly filters down, the mockery will be nothing new, but I expect only half the class will hate me. I made a list of pros and cons, and this was the best option.”

“You make a good point,” she chewed. “But if you tell anyone other than Shirofuku Yukie that I like tits, I’m going to set you on fire.” 

 

The rest of the day flowed smoothly. He had no more heavy bags to carry around. Well, none except the heaviest bag, the one with his gift for Bokuto inside. A metaphorical weight. It weighed on him in class, through practice, and even during the brief period in between official and extra practice where he managed to slip it from his own bag to Bokuto’s.

The opportunity struck while the captain was being lectured on his emotional outbursts, which was a ridiculous venture during the best of times, let alone when Bokuto was being emotional. Their coach was really good at his job generally, but also very terrible at coaching Bokuto specifically.

Akaashi sat on the bench, listening to Bokuto stammer as he tried to stand up for himself. Washio had been relentless in his blocks, and Bokuto hadn’t been on his game. His spikes had been slammed back into the court again and again, until he started to yell, a sure sign that he was trying to keep from crying.

This had led to the current situation. Ignoring every other complicated emotion Bokuto now elicited, Akaashi focused on the quickest way to bring him back to himself. Once the coach was done with him he would be, at best, slumped in a corner, lightly hitting his head against the wall.

Knowing how to resolve his captain’s pain would be so much easier if he had some kind of list of Bokuto’s major positive and negative characteristics. He could pinpoint the problem, and smooth things over by providing specific compliments appropriate to the situation.

Akaashi did not trust his own ability to come up with them on the fly.

The fight came closer and closer to the gym entrance, until the sound of the doors locking up echoed across the courtyard.

“Boy, I told you, you’re going to ruin your knees and then who knows what you’ll be able to do with yourself?” the coach chuckled, as though he wasn’t saying something incredibly cruel. “Take a rest, cool your head, and we’ll start fresh tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay, Yamiji-Coach,” Bokuto was sad and formal. His slow crunching footsteps headed towards the clubroom and Akaashi found himself in a huge predicament.

 _He had nowhere to go_.

He ripped off his practice gear as quickly as possible, clumsily throwing his shoes, shorts, and shirt into his gym bag. He rarely stood in nothing but his underwear, but it was the quickest way to pull on his pants, undershirt, shirt, and jacket. He stuffed his tie in his pocket just as Bokuto stepped into the club room.

His face was red enough that the three tear tracks were almost invisible.

There was nothing Akaashi wanted more than to stay. But if he were to stay he was likely to make the situation incredibly awkward.

But awkward for who, exactly?  

“Bokuto-san…”

The captain shook his hand over his head, “So you heard, Akaashi? You should head out. All ready to go and all. I’ll lock up the club room.”

“Bokuto-san–”

“Just _go_ Akaashi!”

Akaashi went.

He’d only walked a quarter of the way around the school when he remembered that Bokuto was likely to discover his gift. All around him, students were leaving their clubs, so he couldn’t just make a run for it, but he increased his speed until he was at the school gates much faster than normal.

Not fast enough.

“AKAAAASHIII!” came a voice from far away.

“AkaaAAAsseeee!!!” he could hear the skittering of gravel under shoes.

And then.

“Akaashi.”

He was caught. He couldn’t express why he was trying to get away, just that he didn’t want Bokuto to know he was the one who’d left the gift. Even though it was obvious. But he still didn’t want him to know and he didn’t know why. Not being particularly used to the feeling of not knowing himself, he needed time to acclimate to it. But he was caught anyway, so it didn’t matter.

“Bokuto-san,” he turned around with a sort of ridiculous drama that left him wanting to roll his eyes at himself.

Bokuto was panting, dressed even more sloppily than normal. His jacket was inside-out. The strap of his bag was slung across his forehead, dangerously holding it up. But regardless of all the mess, he was delicately holding the gift box in front of him. It was fully intact despite his sprinting around the gym. Instead of rapidly untying it, the ribbon had been gently slid off a corner to keep it intact and slung over his shoulder. The paper was untaped and carefully folded back instead of ripped.

Bokuto had opened it more carefully, gently than Akaashi imagined him unwrapping anything in his life.

He opened his mouth to ask a question, but Akaashi _finally_ found his normal, everyday courage that had been missing for an entire month and beat him to it.

“Why did you give me those chocolates for Valentine’s Day, Bokuto-san?”

Of all the questions Bokuto was expecting, that didn’t seem to be one of them. He opened and closed his mouth several times, before swallowing hard.

“Well, I just…” he cleared his throat, “you know, Akaashi, Valentine’s Day can suck for some guys. And you’re new, and I mean, I figured you’d get a ton, but I know you don’t like real sweet things, so I figured you’d get a bunch of candy you didn’t like.”

It was Akaashi’s turn to open and close his mouth. “How did you know that I…?”

Bokuto threw his head back and guffawed, “You always give all of your desserts to Yukie! I mean, you’d fight her for a single chip, but not sweet stuff. I suppose I kinda noticed because I hoped you’d give them to me sometime. I like sweet things! And I wasn’t gonna ask cause I thought for awhile you maybe had a crush on her, even though she likes girls.”

Congratulations Kimura Hiroko.

“I… didn’t have…”

“Well I know that now,” Bokuto chuckled. “I thought I’d be better at noticing, but you were really good at hiding.”

Akaashi wasn’t really sure _why_ Bokuto expected to be better at noticing, but–

“I’ve never had a boyfriend before, so maybe that’s why. I’ve… uh… never had a girlfriend either, so I guess maybe there’s not much for me to go by.”

Oh.

“So anyway, I thought you’d probably get a ton of super sweet chocolates, and… I figured that chocolates that people didn’t think about were kinda the same as no chocolates at all. And that feels pretty bad. So I thought a bunch about what you might like and I got you that stuff. The mustard kind was a joke. It’s for cooking weird shit. I hope you didn’t eat it.”

“It’s my favorite.”

It was dark and it would be an assumption to say that Bokuto’s pale cheeks flushed. But maybe it was time to start making assumptions.

“Heh, that’s pretty crazy,” he rubbed the back of his head. “And uh, they weren’t obligation kind. I didn’t give anything to the rest of the team. And I asked Kuroo and he said that captains didn’t give their vice captains anything but trouble.”

There was a pause, and then they looked at each other and started laughing.

“He isn’t as funny as he thinks he is,” Bokuto choked out.

“I’ve had more of him than I’d like this past month,” Akaashi gasped for air. “He makes grandfather jokes exclusively. Even his mother–”

Bokuto stopped laughing and his eyebrow skyrocketed into his forehead.

“Wait a minute. How do you even know Kuroo’s mom?”

The question sent a steel rod down Akaashi’s spine. Bokuto tipped his head to the side, more curious than suspicious but Akaashi still felt less than ideal about it.

It was an easy question to lie in response to. And Bokuto would either believe him, or pretend to. Probably the former. But his fingers were still clutching at the white of the box. The perfect bow was undisturbed, hanging over his shoulder.

“I wanted more chocolate. And I wanted to find out why you’d gotten me some.”

“You could have just asked,” Bokuto laughed. “Akaashi, you always just ask! I figured you were embarrassed or something.”

“Well you always want everyone to know when you do something nice!” Akaashi snapped, then _immediately_ wished he could cut out his tongue.

“Ah, yeah,” Bokuto was a little quieter, but he didn’t seem sad. “I guess I do some days. It makes you feel pretty good when people see you do something awesome, right Akaashi?”

“It does.”

“But that stuff wasn’t about me. It was about you not feeling bad. And cause, I just wanted to? So, I didn’t say anything. I had to run halfway to my appointment to keep from telling the team at the train station, though. I was pretty excited.”

Akaashi choked back his laugh. Then there was a long silence. It was cold and windy and he wanted them to stand closer to shield each other from the chilly gusts.

“So why did you get me these?” Bokuto pulled out one of the long, black sleeves, unable to hold back his excitement for a second longer. “They seem like… well… I mean… I don’t really even get what they’re for.”

“Because the chocolates were the only ones I’ve ever enjoyed in my entire life. And they were obviously from you. I wanted to return the favor.”

Bokuto slumped, “They were a secret so you didn’t have feel like that, Akaashi!” His arms fell slightly, and the box was on the verge of dumping its contents on the sidewalk.

“Yes, but they were a thoughtful Valentine’s Day gift and…”

“You didn’t _have to_ Akaashi. It wasn’t like that.”

They could go back and for like this forever. It was time to do what Akaashi did best, despite really not wanting to do it.

“What was it then, Bokuto-san? An obligation gift?”

“Course not!”

“Then was it a romantic gesture?” he pushed.

“I wanted you to feel special!” Bokuto shouted. “I don’t know what kind of special! All kinds! Maybe a kind I don’t get yet, but that didn’t mean I…”

“They’re compression kneepads!” Akaashi shouted back.

“What?” Bokuto immediately stopped wrestling with his feelings.

Akaashi swallowed. “We spoke the other day about practicing less because of your quads. Compression allows your muscles to recover more quickly.”

Bokuto’s mouth was hanging open, and not with surprise or delight. He simply didn’t understand.

“Meaning… we can practice together more.”

He’d never seen the smile Bokuto was making. Wobbly and almost like he was going to cry but he clearly wasn’t. But he clearly wasn’t about to say anything either, because Akaashi waited for almost a full minute for a response and things were starting to get awkward.

“I think you’ll find that they look good as well. At least they were flattering on the mannequin in the athletics store.”

“Well of course they’ll look good Akaashi!” Bokuto’s spell of silence was broken. “It’s me!”

“Indeed.”

And rather abruptly the cat had gotten both their tongues. They stood, facing each other with fluttering smiles, while occasionally a student passed on their way home. Maybe five minutes passed with neither of them having a clue what to do.

“Thank you again, for the chocolates Bokuto-san. And the… sentiment behind them. It meant a great deal on a terrible day.”

Bokuto nodded rapidly then held up his box, “And thanks for these, Akaashi! I’ve never gotten a White Day gift before. Guess that means I’m the girl, eh?”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “Indeed.”

But whatever spell that had held them there was broken, and both of them were shifting impatiently to head their separate ways.

“See you tomorrow then?” Bokuto asked, as though there was ever an alternative possibility.

Akaashi snorted, “Unless you plan on playing hooky. We have a practice match, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Akaaaashi! I wouldn’t forget something like that!”

“Well, you’ve forgotten to button and zip your pants, so it’s hard to be sure.”

Bokuto blushed. And Akaashi blushed. And somewhere the spy agency supervisor that had sent Bokuto to seduce him was blushing too.

“Yeah, I’ll uh… see ya tomorrow, Akaashi! Thanks for the kneepads,” he fiddled with the box, “They’re gonna look awesome!”

“I know,” Akaashi said.

 

When he got home, he went straight to his room.

The old Valentine’s Day and White Day notebooks were still in his desk, their innocuous black and blue hiding their intended purpose. He’d only written on a few pages and he’d torn those out years ago. The spreadsheet was much more useful for a large group of people.

But for one?

He filled up thirty-seven lines in the black notebook before he couldn’t think of anything more to say. He left it unlabeled, because if someone found a notebook full of weaknesses, they might make a certain kind of assumption about the cruelty level of its owner. And Akaashi was honest. He wasn’t cruel.

The blue notebook was another story entirely. He stopped counting strengths around line one hundred and fifty-four. This was around the same time that he realized the items he was listing were less strengths in game and more… positive things about Bokuto. Things that Akaashi liked. Things that Akaashi Keiji liked about Bokuto Koutarou. Things that he couldn’t stop writing about him.

A lot of analysis and a childhood crush on an anime character doesn’t prepare you for the real thing, Akaashi realized. But all the same, when the sun rose on his cramped hand, he had an entire notebook full of the things that made Bokuto Koutarou tremendous.

So it seemed safe to say, that Bokuto’s feelings aside, Akaashi’s crush was less of a half and more of a whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks liv for prereading this chapter. 
> 
> and thanks to all of you for reading. i know this is a half hour early in my time zone but white day is happening RIGHT NOW in japan so...
> 
> happy white day!


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